


A King of Old Days

by oafster



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oafster/pseuds/oafster
Summary: A short vignette about a prideful king.
Relationships: Dheginhansea | Dheginsea/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	A King of Old Days

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this across a few tweets on Twitter, but I wanted to zhoosh it up a bit and post it here in a less restrictive format.

Dheginsea stands sternly beside me as we look out over Goldoa, his hand firmly on my shoulder, our faces caressed by the warmth of the evening light.

"Dheginsea," I say, shrugging off his hand as I turn to face him. "Come away with me. I…"

But he cuts me off. He quickly returns his hand to my shoulder, rooting me in place. "Silence," he says, his powerful voice resounding through my chest, echoing deep into my heart. "I will not," he whispers. "I cannot." The words sting, infecting me like some cruel venom that brings about a most awful agony.

"Why?" I ask. It is all I can do to hold back the tears. I grasp tightly to my composure for as long as I can bear it while my heart is mangled, knowing his intentions but hoping I am wrong. I step closer to him, my breathing heavy. “Why not?” I ask again.

He does not respond. In the silence that hangs between us, I gaze into his world-weary eyes, breathe in his ancient musk, and he cups my cheek in his great hand. The skin of his palm is cool to the touch, cold as the blood that courses through his veins. He holds me with a gentleness that belies his true strength, and I fall inward, my arms closing around him, my head burying into his chest. We stand for a moment, slowly enveloping each other, lingering in the comfort of that closeness, that easy familiarity, until he pulls himself away, his cold touch retreats, and my skin warms once more in the sun.

"It is not the will of the goddess," he says. The will of the goddess! He has long forgotten the will of the goddess. I reach out to him, eager to take his hand in mine, to pull him from the balcony and run from the palace. But with one stubborn stroke, my hand is knocked away. And finally, my composure slips from my grasp, my legs buckle, and I fall to my knees, my face wet with woe.

“Dheginsea,” I say, imploring him to hear me.

But with a new solemnity, he steps towards me, towering over me, looking down on me, slouched in my sorrow. I reach out again, desperate to hold him once more. And again he resists, and I relent.

"Leave this place," he says, too proud to appease me. I try to reply, I want to reply, to make him understand, to convince him to bow just once to his desire. He will not allow it. His face is stoic, a stone mask to disguise his anguish. But I am wise to his fronts. I can hear the stifled yearning in his breaths, see the sadness seeping from his eyes, until he turns his back, unable to face me as I kneel pitiful on the floor. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, but they are soon replaced as I gaze at him, a hard shadow standing tall against the warmth of the sky. He knows what must be done, and he can only hold his ire in check as I urge him to forsake that duty.

And then, without turning to face me, he utters just one thing more, his voice hesitant, his words laboured, burdened with longing and regret. “Goldoa will not move.”


End file.
